


the Crutch

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-18
Updated: 2008-07-18
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:02:12
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: He could see Dean in the mirror. He was leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pocket and scuffs of dirt decorating his clothes and his exposed skin. Sam was so sick of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Can be read as stand-alone or as part of the Coming Undone series

_Break it down in pieces, make it simple_

_‘Cause you know damn well that_

_I’m a simple man_

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“Then what **_do_** you want, Sammy?”

 

Sam stiffened at the use of his nickname. He could see Dean in the mirror. He was leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pocket and scuffs of dirt decorating his clothes and his exposed skin. Dad was off desecrating another grave and had sent Dean to check up on his baby brother. Sam was so sick of it. 

 

“Not this,” he snapped, watching Dean’s face for any emotion. As usual it was guarded and he barely caught the ripple of agony. In less than a second Dean’s face was once again empty, nothing. “Anything but this.”

 

“You want this over, Sammy?” Dean moved off the wall in one fluid motion. Fifteen years of training hadn’t been kind to him but it gave him a grace, a finesse that Sammy could never mimic. Fifteen years of training had taken something away from his brother, something that Sam had once glimpsed and was afraid he’d never see again. “You want me out of the picture? To be normal? You want to be like all the other little boys, Sammy?”

 

Dean was right behind him now. A ghost of their previous interaction flickered below his awareness. He could almost feel the battle-weary hands that had taken hold of his face and had drawn their mouths together. He could still feel the rushed caress of Dean’s touches skimming over his shoulders, his arms, and dropping down, one hand to grasp his hip, the other to tangle through his fingers. And there was the burn of Dean’s breath as the memory kissed the spot right behind his ear, threatening to break free and remind him in real time. He could almost feel Dean’s desperate hips still grinding against his own. Until he had thrown him off.

 

Now his brother was standing behind him, their eyes locked through the mirror. Sammy was no longer shorter. They were evenly matched, eye to eye, and Sam almost wanted to fight it when Dean grabbed a fistful of his shaggy hair and dragged his head back so that he had to look out the bottom of his eyes to see the scene reflected back at them: Dean, in charge, always in charge; Sam, long line of his neck exposed, vulnerable, angry yet so vulnerable. 

 

“Don’t say that Sammy.” Dean growled, pressing up behind him. The pressure in his hair increased, just enough to pull his head back a little bit further. Pressure that pulled but never quite hurt. “Don’t ever say that. Never.”

 

Dean’s face was fierce. His eyes glowed in the yellow light of the cheap lamp. The blood at his temple was dried and grotesque. Sam wanted to wash it away, and then lay kisses on the bruise that was sure to be under it. He wanted to ask what the hunt had been like. He wanted to hear about Dean’s victorious defeat of whatever spirit it was this time. He wanted it all, and when Dean’s teeth raked across his shoulder he couldn’t suppress the low whine that started in his throat. He had lost this argument, long before it had even started. And he knew that later, when Dad was sleeping in the bed next to them, he would be rewarded for seeing things Dean’s way. Dean’s strength would turn tender and the protector would become the lover whose sweet touches would silently push Sam beyond the edge and then bring him back with wet kisses. 

 

As Dean’s body moulded against his own, the hand in his hair loosened. Sam was allowed to drop his head and stare once more into Dean’s reflection, eye to eye. 

 

“You’re all I got, Sammy,” Dean said and placed his free hand over Sam’s heart. “You’re all I got.”

 

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_Dig a little deeper and you’ll realize_

_All I’m building up you’re tearing down_

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End file.
